I do NOT like this much drama in my life! Now with update!

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that my youngest daughter Diva and I do not get along. And I think I've said here that she doesn't want to be with us. Well, right now she's not. She ran away from home yesterday. We think she's with a friend of hers, and the friend's older sister came by this morning to discuss things with us. The older sister is a great little lady. Diva's friend seems to be about as fucked up as Diva is. The friend turned 18 years old last week so she thinks there are no rules. Diva has always worked on the belief that rules don't apply to her.

I am not at all surprised that she ran away. In a yelling match last week she told me she had all her stuff packed and ready to go. I didn't take her too seriously at the time, and really don't know what I could have done about it anyway. She has rejected our authority and I don't know how to change that. Her friend's big sister (let's call her Big Sis) recommended that we beat Diva. I don't feel right about doing that, though it might be what's necessary. I won't do it. She's stronger than me and will beat me if I try. I know. We've had a couple of physical altercations already and I don't want to do that again. Am I afraid of her? Physically, yes.

I didn't sleep well last night. I'm worried about the child. I love her and care what happens to her. I don't particularly like her right now, though there are times when she's quite pleasant to be with. I don't think she ought to live with us, but we haven't found any safe place to house her. I contacted a local children's home last week about taking her, but especially now that she's run away I think she's too big a risk for them to take. I have a couple of other leads, one of which I just emailed. The other is a military school I just found out about. Their homepage is opened in another tab right now.

And right now my chest kind of hurts. It's a dull ambiguous ache high in the middle of my chest. Also, there is not enough chocolate in this house.

Diva

This picture was taken two years ago, but she still looks about the same. Her hair is different now. She's wearing a wig, long straight black hair with bangs. Her own hair is "natural" (not straightened or permed) and fairly short.

That's about all I have now. I'll update if there is anything new to add.

UPDATE:
She came home on her own tonight (Sunday night) around 11:30. She's here, but very unhappy about it. We aren't sure what we're going to do next. 

Here's another post

Somebody suggested that I post more often. So here's another post. What will it say? I don't know yet.
In the meantime, enjoy this post:

Yet another post

One reason I haven't posted recently is that I don't want to talk about it. It's too damned depressing. 

Yeah, I'm depressed, and it affects the way I communicate. My thoughts are disorganized and so is my communication. I don't make sense to myself, so I doubt I make sense to anyone else. 

I saw my therapist today. She knows I am depressed. She sympathises. She wants to help us get Diva into a group home or something. 

There's a group home here in Greenwood. I contacted the admissions director the other day to see about getting Diva in there. She says they have space for her, but there is of course more to the application process. I dropped off some of Diva's records yesterday - the discharge summary from the psychiatric residential facility, the latest IEP* from the school, that sort of thing. I've arrange for the school psychologist to send their psych evaluation to this place. Next step is for us to have an interview. Or for them to interview Diva, I'm not sure which. The invitation to interview depends on whether or not the paperwork I've already submitted scares the admissions director off of Diva. We shall see. My therapist knows the admissions lady and will call her to put in a good word for us/Diva. 

Superman had a heart scare Tuesday. His heart was fluttering something awful, beating really fast, he was dizzy and short of breath. I took him to the emergency department. The doctor he got is the best cardiologist in town, according to reliable sources. Superman was experiencing atrial fibrillation, which is the leading cause of stroke. FML. But, it's also very common and very easy to manage. I pretend not to worry. 

So, do you think stress might be a factor? Do you, like me, think that Diva in particular and the sons in addition are killing us? 

Diva did a bad thing last weekend. She was grounded, but convinced her daddy to allow her to exchange one day of being grounded (Friday evening to Saturday evening) for being grounded the rest of this week. We brokered a similar deal with Sproing not too long ago. So yeah, we let her spend the night/day with her friend in Abbeville (the next town west of us). The little bitch pulled the switcheroo, though. See, I knew we shouldn't trust her, but I went along with the plan anyway because what the fuck. Her daddy trusted her, though. He was to pick her up at 6:30 Saturday evening. To make a long painful story short, he didn't actually get her until 7:30 Sunday evening. She kept calling to say she wasn't at her friend's house, they were in another town visiting relatives or some such. It's all lies anyway, so whatever. The thing is that he trusted her and she broke his trust. Again. And this was the last straw. He is heartbroken, really. 

I had a little talk with her this afternoon. I explained that she did herself in this time, that her daddy who has always had her back, who has always given her the benefit of the doubt, is now finished with her. 

Superman was in a state Sunday evening, and since then, too. He is in mourning for the little girl he wishes he had. You probably know I gave up on her (mostly) a long time ago. It hurts to see how much she has hurt him. 

There's more, too. More that involves her screaming and cussing at us for an hour right after Superman got home from the hospital. She insists that she's going to move to Abbeville to live with her friend. That ain't happenin'. We're the parents, we have legal responsibility for her, etc. and we're not going to let her live with some other skanky ho to get into all kind of trouble. We will, however, let her live at this group home. At first she balked (that's a very understated way to describe her reaction) but after finding out more about the place she's more willing to consider it. I hope to all the gods available that they accept her. 

Sproing is home and nothing has changed about the way he interacts with the family. I don't know how to describe it. He's bossy, shifts blame, bitches about any task we give him (though he usually does what we ask if we leave him alone), and ignores the rules he doesn't like. He goes before the judge again on March 11th for his final ... whatever the legal term is. This is when the judge considers the results of his evaluations from the evaluation center (the kiddie jail he was in) and makes a final judgement on what to do with him. I have no idea how that will go. Frankly I haven't the emotional energy to give a fuck. I'll deal with it when it happens. 

Twitch is looking for a job. Sort of. In a very lazy half-assed way. His presence irritates me because he's being such a leech. I "encourage" him to get out there and pound the pavement, but godalmighty I'm so fucking depressed that I barely have the energy to give him a dirty look. 

Superman and I will leave here as soon as we're finished at court with Sproing on the 11th. We'll drive up to Pennsylvania to see Light. Her art exhibit is up until the third week of March and I really want to see it. So on the way to Delaware we're going to swing by Indiana, PA. Yeah, it's a round-about way to get to Delaware from South Carolina, but it involves seeing Light so it's all good. Then Thursday we'll head to Lewes, DE for the Bloggerpalooza. Oh my stars I'm so looking forward to seeing my blog buddies and being away from home! It feels like years since I did anything resembling fun. I had a blast on my road trip last summer, and that's probably the last time I had fun. Being so depressed makes it seem like I've never known fun and will never have any fun ever again. So I'm going to Delaware looking for fun. 

"They" say that being involved in charitable activities helps relieve feelings of despondency. Tomorrow (Friday) I'll spend a few hours with a sweet little old lady who is slowly dying of heart failure. It's my Friday thing for now. Until she dies. This is the third Hospice patient I've had the privilege** of visiting. She isn't quite as spunky as the last lady I sat with, but she's very nice. Her daughter (the caregiver) is nice, too. I'll take my knitting. I knat last week and she enjoyed watching me. I find that amusing, but whatever to amuse a poor dying lady, I'll do. I think I left my little scissors there. They weren't in my tote bag when I got home. 

And that's about all I know. It's pretty damned depressing. Maybe one day I'll be able to post something that has nothing to do with my children and that is pleasant. This ain't it. 

*IEP - Individual Education Plan

**"Privilege is not spelled with a "d" anywhere. Remember that, Java. Also, it truly is a great privilege to visit with these Hospice patients. 

The bitch is back

Wasn't that last post so nice and uplifting? Or something. This one is not like that one.

Diva is home from school today, suspended for the day. She only got one day this time, and only because she wouldn't go to the in-school suspension room yesterday. As I heard it, someone heard her say a cuss word in the cafeteria before school and reported her to the boogie man. She denies saying the cuss word. Yes, she said the sentence, but didn't put the cuss word in it that the witness claims was there. Knowing this child, I think she probably said the cuss word. Anyway, she feels wrongly accused, and refused to take the punishment. So she's home today to punish me. I hate this policy.

I'm trying to make her life miserable, though. OK, not completely, not specifically, not generally. I am, however, giving her chores to do and not acting very friendly. She's slamming stuff around, being aggressively angry toward stuff. Thankfully she isn't aggressive toward me. So far. She's pissing me off, though. I started the day pissed off simply because she is here instead of at school.

Coping strategies so far include surfing the web, writing this post, and eating two small dishes of chocolate pudding. In reserve I have drugs and booze. If it gets really bad I'll take my Ativan. If it's bad but not drug use bad, I'll drink a beer. Or two. Or three. Also, there may be a nap in my future.

Really uncomfortable cramps complicate the situation. Damn, I want to pinch her little head off. On the plus side, she swept and vacuumed the kitchen, living room, and halls. She did a mediocre job of it, but it's better than it was.

I avoid my problems by sleeping. When I get emotionally stressed I get very, very sleepy. This used to happen all the time in the earlier years of our marriage when we'd visit his parents. Being around his mother put me to sleep, and not because she is a boring person. She isn't boring, but her idea of interesting is my idea of stress. My least favorite mode of interesting is criticizing the son and daughter-in-law and/or their children. To make matters worse, her other grandchildren, the daughters of her daughter and son-in-law, are perfect. The now-ex- son-in-law got lots of criticism, though. I spell it s-t-r-e-s-s.

I don't like the way these sentences go together in the paragraphs. There are sentences that do not belong with the others, but I'm too sleepy to fix them. In a further example, this is an art thing. Or a failure thing. For the past few days (weeks?) I have started some project or other and been frustrated with the outcome. I have the idea in my head, but the process of producing it gets messed up somewhere. A simple circle in a square becomes a rat's nest. A stack of blocks becomes entangled in string that isn't supposed to be there. Perhaps I'm too focused on the process and not the product, so the process gets in the way.

Well, that last paragraph was helpful. Thank you. I feel a bit less strung up.

Here's the thing

I dread spending time with my children. Well, with some of my children. One in particular. The young boy is being a pain in the ass, and has been all summer. Although to my surprise and delight, Diva is doing very well. Though I'm not eagerly looking for opportunities to spend time with her, when these opportunities occur they can be almost pleasant. It's a process for both of us, Diva and me, learning to get along in each other's company. Sproing, though, isn't attempting to make things better. He's just obnoxious and rude and inconsiderate, etc. School starts in 15 days. Yes, I'm counting them, the days.

Today has been difficult for me, and it's a "me" thing. I slept in, which isn't a bad thing necessarily. I got up and showered, which is good, since some days I forego the shower. (That's one of the signs that I'm depressed, the skipping of the shower. Also the sleeping in.) I spent a few moments in the same room with Sproing. That was stressful, so I left. I was finishing my morning grooming routine in the bathroom but the cat's litter box made the experience odiferously unpleasant. Well, what to do except clean it out, right? Superman usually does that job, but he's at work and I'm uncomfortable with the stench, so here I go. And make a mess of it. Dumped half the cat poop on the bathroom floor. I cleaned it up effectively. (Sometimes when I try to clean up my messes, I end up making bigger messes.) But in the process I stepped in dirty cat litter (no icky solids, but nasty nonetheless). And I'd just had a shower. So I washed my feet in the sink. One at a time; I didn't levitate over the lavatory to wash both feet simultaneously. Now, on a good day I'd have a laugh at my clumsiness and go about my business. Today is not a good day. I very nearly cried. And I've been anxious and on edge ever since. I have some pills to help that, but I'm going to try eating a healthy lunch (I had a healthy breakfast, though it was small) and see if that doesn't help soothe my nerves somewhat. I have to go through the living room where the Sproing is lying in wait to be ugly to me, and that increases my resistance to leaving the relative safety of my bedroom.

As you may have noticed, I'm not writing much here these days. Actually, I went all week last week without turning on my computer at all. I think it was yesterday, Sunday, that I finally logged on and checked my email. I deleted most of that without reading it. Just too depressed. Facebook depresses me these days, too, though I did peruse the 'book for a while yesterday. Probably won't mess with it today.

I watched the Braves win all three games against the Phillies this weekend. That was about the only "fun" thing I could do all weekend. I was strong enough one day last week to get my hair cut. That's a stressful activity for me, as I've mentioned in the past. But it was OK. And I spent the time with Twitch, too, which was pleasant. I picked him up from work (he has a small part-part-time job doing warehouse stuff at a department store), we went to the cheap haircut place and waited a long time for my haircut, then he helped me buy $300+ worth of groceries at Aldi. Aldi is the place where you bag your own groceries in your own bags/boxes. I have a few market bags and miscellaneous small containers for that sort of thing, but not for $300+ worth of groceries. I had an old medium sized dog crate rattling around in the back seat of my truck, though, and we assembled that to hold lots of groceries. Used bungee cords to secure it in the bed of the truck. Thankfully it was a rare sunny day here in the 'wood. The whole thing was kinda funny. Perhaps I should have taken a picture of it, but I didn't. Anyway, that was a busy day. Buying, bagging, transporting, unloading, and putting away that much stuff takes a long time and lots of energy. Way more energy than I have today, for sure.

These paragraphs are too long. I reread them, looking for a good place to divide them into smaller chunks, but find no good breaking point. So there you have it; long, rambling paragraphs. It's the best I can do today, and I'm OK with that.

Let's go find some healthy lunch. Maybe that will help. (It won't help the paragraphs, but will hopefully help my emotional condition.)

Flossing and problems related thereunto

My smallest problem today is that I bought a new container of dental floss and I don't know if I'm going to like this style. It was on sale. I chose the 50 meter amount instead of the 25 meter amount, because it's a better deal, you know. But I didn't realize what kind of floss it is, and I don't know if I'm going to like this. It's fuzzy. I wanted the ribbon kind, not this freaky stuff. Why does buying dental floss have to be so complicated? I'm too stressed these days to handle these kinds of complications in my life. Fifty meters of dental floss is a commitment I'm going to have to live with for a long time. 

A moment for thought

Recently I've been chatting with a new blog buddy, Victor. (Look Victor! I figured out how to link to your profile!) We had a long chat last night about deep subjects. I thought! I thought about something besides the stress with my children. It was glorious! And I realize this morning (OK, it's afternoon. Work with me here.) that I almost never have time or energy to contemplate. Victor and I discussed, among other things, my adventures of last summer in West Virginia: the few days I spent alone in the rustic cabin at Babcock State Park, then wrecking the car, and the wonderful time Superman and I had together when he came to rescue me. That week means a lot to me. I had peace. I had space in my day and in my head to relax, to think about the whichness of why. If you don't know by now, I really like contemplating the whichness of why. Thinking is one of my favorite activities. Oh, and Victor compels me to think. He asks good questions, too.

So this morning I had motivation to get up and do some things around the house that I want and need to do. We're trying to clean up, clear up, eliminate the unnecessary stuff in our home. And by extension, I guess, in our lives. I say "we" because it's a joint effort, but really it's all about me. (Isn't it always?)

However (and isn't this always the case) once I was up and about, the children interfered with my peace. Diva argued with me when I set her to a job (that she'd been told to do over a week ago and had done it insufficiently). She got pissy. I've been feeling pretty pissy myself for the past few days. Moving along... and Sproing bounces in my face and taunts me. I tell you, that sort of thing takes the wind out of my sails.

Is this normal? Is something wrong with me that I am not able to complete my appointed rounds (so to speak) when I encounter kid interference? Maybe my ADD contributes to the problem. Or perhaps the over-the-top abnormal behavior of these children has stressed me out to the point that I am so easily derailed. The arguments from Diva are kind of normal for teenagers her age and level of maturity. But because she is abnormal in so many pathological ways I guess I'm hyper sensitive to her behavior. I have less patience with her than perhaps I would or should if she wasn't so nuts.

Listen to me. I'm talking about the children again. Dammit. There are other things in my life! Things I want to think about, discoveries I need to make about who I am becoming.

A lot has changed in my life in the past decade. Ten years ago I was a faithful Bible-believing Christian actively involved in a conservative church. Was it seven years ago now? I caught the gay. Met C, grew to love him, and came to the realization that there is nothing wrong with being gay. It's normal, natural, and not at all what I'd been taught. Questioning the church's teaching on homosexuality led to more questions about the validity of other things the church teaches about the Bible and society.

I've had a sea change in personal worldview. These things require a lot of thought. I need to review events in my past, reframed with my new perspective. Have I had time to do that? Hell no. I've been dragged through the wringer... well, you know. Read most of my archives for the past couple of years. It's been hell with these two adolescent lunatics. Bitter? Oh yeah.

I got a couple of hours of freedom from those stresses last night chatting with Victor. I am unbelievably grateful, Victor, for the conversation we shared.

I'll try to be brief,

...but there's so much to say.

I have an exam this afternoon and a paper due tomorrow. It's a paper I have to actually think about. I have three papers due sometime this week (last week? A month ago?) that won't tax the brain, but I must do them. This is the last week of classes, and next week is final exams. Most of my exams are this week, actually, and I have projects due next week.

But that's not what I came to tell you about.

When we last saw our heroine she was pulling her hair out over Diva. Still. Since then it's gotten worse. Diva has progressed as far as she's going to at the treatment facility (RTF). They need to release her to make room for other clients whom they can help. So where does that leave Diva? The agency (The Agency) that's managing her care (not the RTF) wants to send her back home. We have told them that we aren't ready for that. So they want to put her into a therapeutic foster home for a short while (2 months? 3? I dunno) and transition her back into our home. Oh HELL no! We made it clear that we can't take her now nor in the foreseeable future (3 years? 4? I dunno).

The goal of this care management agency (The Agency) is to keep families together, to provide services for emotionally disturbed children in the least restrictive environment possible and in their own communities. A noble goal, no question. But not always applicable. They're working with us to help Sproing, too, and that is working beautifully. Diva is a different creature.

Here's the thing (one of the things, anyway): she hasn't risen past level 2 of the RTF's 5 level system in the year she's been there. The kids are supposed to reach level 5 and maintain that for a certain length of time to prove their readiness to leave the controlled environment of the RTF. I brought that up to the lady from The Agency. She said the levels were more what you call a guideline, really.

She says Diva's release date is the 30th of April. If we don't take her then, or make other arrangements by then, we will be legally charged with criminal child abandonment. That, of course, goes on our permanent record. With a criminal record of that nature, I will likely never be able to work in the mental health care field. I'm in school getting a psychology degree so I can go on to grad school for a masters in social work or some such so that I can be a counselor. But not if I have a criminal record of child abandonment. And yes, they really will charge us. I've checked.

"But wait," you say. "Diva is mentally ill and not safe to bring home." Bingo. The Agency doesn't care. They finally located a therapeutic foster home for her, but a few homes refused her based on her history and/or diagnosis. Hmmm, does that maybe indicate she isn't safe to bring home? Superman and I have discussed with The Agency the possibility of privately placing her in an extended stay group home type institution. The Agency lady cautioned us to emphasize the progress Diva has made when we talk to these places, and that some places won't take her based on her history. Hello! Does this indicate perhaps she isn't safe to bring home? And yet The Agency is ignoring this obvious contradiction.

We still have the option of letting her go to the therapeutic foster home, but part of the contract for that is that we have to bring her home for overnight visits. Have I mentioned "oh HELL no?"

And let me tell you about the timeline for this. Today is Tuesday the 19th of April. (One of my bestest friends in the whole world has his birthday tomorrow. I should call him. Once again I digress.) I have exams and papers and projects due (which I should be working on right now instead of writing this) from now until next Wednesday, the 27th of April. The RTF is supposed to be kicking Diva out on Saturday the 30th of April. (I'm not certain how set-in-stone that date is.) At 9:00 a.m. on 4/30 I'm supposed to be in Spartanburg for an awards ceremony at Light's college at which Light will receive an award. On Sunday May 1st Light has the opening of her senior art show, a really big deal for her, the culmination of four years of work toward her bachelor of fine arts degree. It's a bigger deal than graduation. And my mother will be in town, as will (I think) my father and step-mother, and various and sundry in-laws. (Not the parents-in-law, though. They come in the day after.) My mother will be in town until Thursday May 5th.

I hardly have time to breathe much less find a place for the child to live, except for maybe two or three days right before she gets kicked out.

Damn. Talking about it raises my blood pressure. We aren't sure what to do (obviously). And I have so much other stuff to worry about.

So I'm going to go eat lunch, look over my notes for the exam I have at 3:00 today, and go to class. As Scarlett O'Hara said, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." I'll think about it tomorrow.

Under Siege **Updated

So we had a meeting with Sproing's social worker yesterday evening. Superman and I sat down with him in our living room and discussed things for about an hour. It was a bit stressful, the social worker was very straightforward about some methods in our parenting style. He thinks that if we make some adjustments, Sproing might do better. He may well be right. It's hard to tell.

Then Sproing joined us and we all discussed some of the plans that he and the social worker (perhaps I should call him SW) developed that we hope will bring about some improvements in his behaviors and our expectations of him. That discussion didn't go as well, but wasn't too terrible.

Then SW left, and all hell broke loose. Sproing told his dad that he wanted to go out to dinner. Then Sproing came and asked me if I wanted to go. I said "sure, it's a good chance to spend some good time together" (one of those activities we need to increase). All of a sudden Sproing said that he didn't want to go, but wanted me and Superman to go and leave him at home. We didn't really want to go out. We've been spending too much money doing stuff like that recently so we both wanted to stay home and cook stuff. (Superman cooked. I did some homework.) Sproing got unbelievably upset. He accused me of not listening to him (another thing we need to do more of), but I did listen to him. I understood completely that he wanted us to go out and leave him alone. I just wasn't going to do it. I'm the mom. I don't have to do what my 13 year old son says.

And yada yada yada. He screamed, slammed doors, threw stuff, refused to do anything he needed to do. Like eat. He was hungry, but he refused to eat, just because, well, he's like that.

That's an example of what the boy is doing these days. It started late last week, and has happened at least every other day since then. This is what he was like before he went to the treatment facility 18 months ago. We've been through this hell before, and carry some emotional scars from the experience. He's ripping open my scars. We can't go on like this for long. I really hope he decides to get it together and work with us. If he doesn't, he's going back into a treatment facility.

I'm writing this post on one of the library compters at school. I got out of class 45 minutes ago. I had a couple of things I needed to check on before going home, but writing a blog post wasn't one of them. Frankly, I'm afraid to go home. Sproing was acting out again this morning. I don't know what he'll be like when I get home, but I expect the worst. I've been on the verge of tears again today. Being in class was helpful because the lectures distracted me from thinking about this mess.

But I have to go home. For one thing, I'm hungry. And the longer I stay away the worse it will be. So I'm going home now. Good bye.

Addendum

Sproing was pleasant this evening. He was hyperactive, but that's normal. Although he balked some, he was mostly compliant. This is what "normal" has looked like for the past six months, and quite a bit better than his behavior of the past week. I hope this is the continuing trend. Stay tuned for more adventures of Java in Sproing-Drama Land.

Did I mention that this is a very busy semester for me?

The semester got off to a slow start, unfortunately. I know there is a bazillion to do, but most of my classes have been sort of sluggish. We're beginning the 4th week of the term, and it feels like the roller coaster is approaching the top of that first big drop. Did I mention that I'm not a big fan of roller coasters? Especially that first big drop.

I'm taking a sculpture class. Our first project involves welding. Yesterday (Monday) in class we did some welding practice. My piece looks terrible. It's just two small pieces of sheet steel welded at a 90 degree angle to each other. Yesterday it looked terrible. I went by the art studio this afternoon and took another look at it. If anything it looks worse today. The prof says I'll get better with practice.

And speaking of welding, guess what Superman has done? The darling ordered a new welding helmet for me!! The school has four helmets available, but they're no great shakes. Superman has bought a fancy magic helmet for me, one that has the auto-darkening lens! Here, let me show you what I found on Google:

Auto darkening welding helmets have lenses that automatically darken when a welding arc is struck, and returns to a light state when welding ceases, it allows the wearer to continue work without removing the helmet

That's the idea anyhow. I don't know what brand or anything. One of the suppliers that he uses at work had a sale on magic welding helmets. It should be delivered to the house tomorrow (Wednesday). I'm so excited!! Oh, and "magic welding helmet" is my name for it. The industry uses another term (probably "auto darkening") to describe the phenomenon. I like "magic helmet" better.

Which is all very well and good, but not really what I came to talk to you about. It's Sproing. His behavior is getting worse. This past weekend was hellacious. He had one of those huge fits of anger on Saturday afternoon that had me on the brink of... I don't know what exactly. He got angry at something, I don't even remember what, but he started screaming, slamming doors, and throwing things. We eventually got him confined to his bedroom where he began throwing everything he could comfortably lift. There are dents and divots in the walls of his room, and a new one in his new door.

While all this was going on, Superman 'bout lost it. In order to keep himself from hurting the child he left the house, took a drive, went to the home improvement store to pick up a few things. Which was cool, I understand he needed to remove himself from the situation. I was better able to keep my hands off the raging child. Sproing eventually (after an hour? more? less? I don't remember, being in a state of trauma myself) calmed down and came back to earth and was all sweetness and sugarplums. I think I got worse as he got better, though, just because I'd steadied myself during the storm and after it was over I was a basket case.

Superman, though, stayed out for two hours. I expected he'd be back in an hour or less. But the fool ran away from the problem rather than stepping back to catch his breath. When he finally got home he was still upset. He snapped at me, which unleashed my flood. I cried for probably 20 minutes, and he felt all guilty because he'd made me cry. Thing is, as I tried to explain to him, I had been on the verge of tears for two hours. The crying was maybe 10% about him and 90% about the whole Sproing mess.

That tantrum Saturday afternoon was so much like our experiences of two summers ago, when tantrums like that occurred at least once a day, and often two or three times a day. It was hell. It was traumatic. Saturday's experience brought up all those old wounds. I don't remember, did I blog much then? It's too late and I'm too tired (or lazy) to check the archives, but if you're interested go back to July/August/September of 2009 to see if I wrote much about it. Alternatively, go to October 2009 through February 2010 to see what I might have said as I was mentally processing the trauma.

Anyway, to get back to my story, see, yesterday it happened again. He got upset while playing his Xbox NFL football game (Madden 11) because, I don't know, his team lost or something. He threw the controller onto the floor, coffee table, something hard - three times - and it broke. He was screaming and crying the whole time, and screamed "I don't care if the controller broke!!" which of course wasn't true. Ever since the outburst Saturday my nerves have been on edge. I keep having short episodes where I get kinda shaky, my hands slightly trembling. It's as if an old war wound has re-opened.

Sproing went into his room to continue his tirade (actually, I think I "escorted" him to his room) and I removed the Xbox from the TV in the living room. It's hidden in my office now. He had the gall to tell me today that I didn't need to take it. He expects me to hook it back up now because, I don't know, he's not mad right now or something. He has some money he got for his birthday, and wanted to go out this afternoon to buy himself a new controller. Oh Hell NO!!, though what I said was "We need to discuss this." The point is, of course, Oh Hell NO!!

So we need to discuss this. Superman and I have had some conversations along this line. I also spent 1.5 hours this evening on the phone with the fellow who is now working with Sproing, sort of like a case worker.* The three of us adults need to have a pow-wow with the boy about his behavior and about earning his Xbox back. But I dread having this conversation. When I think about it my stomach gets tied in knots. It will not be a pleasant conversation, I fear. There's the crux of the matter: I fear. Here we are again, seeing some of the same behaviors that drove him to being put in a psychiatric residential treatment facility (aka "loony bin") a year and a half ago. Behaviors that nearly put me into the loony bin.

And I've been on edge. Close to tears. Having trouble concentrating. Forgetting details, especially details of the events leading up to and following his emotional explosions. This, for those of you following along in your programs, is Not Good. If he doesn't get his shit together we're going to have to send him back to the loony bin. I know he doesn't want to do that. I don't want to have to do that. But it's ultimately up to him, isn't it? This, I'm fairly sure, will be part of the discussion we will have with him.

The case worker will spend some time with him after school tomorrow (Wednesday). Then when Superman and I get home from work and school, respectively, we will all sit down and hash out some stuff. Or, if Sproing and the case worker do not have a productive time tomorrow afternoon, this meeting with the parents will be just the adults, with Sproing hanging back in his room or something. We shall see what we shall see.

OK, it's time for me to go to bed. As soon as I'm able I will post a follow-up.

*It's been so long since I last posted. Sproing has a new case worker, an older black man with lots of experience working with troubled adolescents. As you may or may not know, Sproing is black ("African-American" in Newspeak) and was adopted into this lily-white ("European-American" in Newspeak) family when he was but a babe in arms. So for the boy to have a case worker of the same race and sex is a boon. Also, as I've worked with the case worker over the past couple of weeks I've found that he's extremely good at his job, we get along well, and are developing a good working relationship. This is a Good Thing.

Review and reflect

It's been a tumultuous few weeks. Last night after Superman got home from dealing with the transfer of Diva he was emotionally exhausted. We snuggled on the bed for a while, talking over all that's gone down recently.

I deal with things by looking at the small picture. I try to tackle one (maybe two) things at a time, and don't consider the whole mess. It's how I can do this.

Last night I took a glimpse at a broader view of recent events in my life. By recent, I mean the past 6-9 months. I've done a lot. I've been through a lot.

Sproing came home 2.5 weeks ago. Things being what they are, situation-wise, we find ourselves homeschooling the boy. By "we" I mean mostly me. He's intense. It takes a lot of energy just to be with him. And of course I am still in school. There are two more weeks of classes, then finals week. I'm finished by the end of April.

And here's what I have come to accept. Once this semester is over, I'm finished with school. I don't need to complete this degree because I already have a bachelor's degree. I could get into grad school now, especially with the psychology course work I've done in the past four semesters. But it isn't going to happen, at least not for a while. For now I am needed at home. These kids are very very needy. I can't be in school now, especially not in grad school. This realization hit me yesterday. I'm still reeling.

What this is, folks, is the death of a dream.

OK, I'm willing to consider this a dream deferred. Deferred indefinitely...

On the other hand

I have been sitting here for over two hours trying to get the gumption to write this post. I read some blogs, played solitaire, snacked on some Junior Mints. (I really don't like those things, but Sproing gave me a box of them.)

Sproing is home, things are going very well with him.

But that's not what I came to tell you about. I need to relate the events that have transpired concerning Diva. I really don't want to talk about it, but I need to.

On Tuesday of this week, the 16th of March, Diva got into an argument on the bus coming home from school. Another girl, whom we shall refer to as Q, had a camera and was taking pictures of her friend. Diva was sitting nearby, and accused Q of taking pictures of her. She didn't want Q taking her picture. Q wasn't taking her picture. It's a stupid argument and I don't know why they even got into it, except that they are 12 years old and stupid. Somehow things prevailed to the point that they agreed to meet for a fight after they got home.

Superman was home experiencing symptoms of a virus. Not too severe, but enough to keep him home and close to the bathroom. Diva came home, called a friend of hers to come over. She got the baseball bat and told her dad that they were going to play baseball. He didn't think anything of it. He had no reason to.

Shortly thereafter he left home to pick me up from school. Diva and her friend had gone off "to play baseball." We got home, she was out. I came into my office, Superman joined me and we were having a pleasant discussion. He had gone into our room at some point in there, came back and said that one of the pocket knives on the shelf in our room was missing. Of course Diva took it. She's the only one here.

Diva came home a short time later. I asked her about the knife. She said her friend had it. I told her to go get it, and she got all defensive and said she didn't know where it was, her friend had done something with it, I don't know what all else. It was all bullshit, of course. I felt compelled to follow up on this, get the knife back. We all got into the car and drove over to Q's house, where all the other kids were. I asked the friend about the knife and he said he'd thrown in on the ground "up there," indicating up the street. Show me, let's find it. We began walking; me, the friend, and a couple of the other kids. Diva was in the car with Superman, following us slowly up the road. I asked these kids what happened, figuring that we weren't hearing the truth from Diva.

The story I heard from them was quite different. I learned that there had been a fight. The baseball bat was intended as a weapon. The story kept getting worse. My dear darling Diva had pulled the knife on Q, threatened her with it. This friend grabbed the knife away from her and threw it far up into the yard where this event occurred. Once we got there the kids, including Diva, walked around and finally found the knife.

Wait a minute. My daughter pulled a knife on another child. The severity of it all was trickling into my brain. I got in the car, told Superman what happened. I felt numb. And scared, thinking of what might have happened. This can NOT be left alone. We went back to Q's house so I could ask Q about it. Her aunt was there, at that time the only adult at the house. (Mom was at work.) Q and Auntie and I discussed Q's take on the situation. I realized that we needed to have some authoritative record of this event. The police needed to be involved. I asked Q if she'd mind telling the police what happened, assuring her that I wasn't trying to get her in trouble, I just needed to make sure the authorities knew what Diva had done. She reluctantly agreed. Her aunt wasn't as reluctant about it. Neither was I.

I called 911 to report my own daughter. I really hate that. I hate the whole situation.

The police came, got info from everyone. Q's aunt agreed to press charges against Diva, for which I was very grateful. This is the only way she's going to get the help she needs. Or, looking at it another way, this is the only way WE are going to get the help we need. Diva was officially arrested, though since her dad and I were right there they filled out the preliminary paperwork and released her to our custody. It's what would have happened anyway. If they'd taken her to the station we would have gone to get her. This saved a lot of time and effort.

We are now waiting to hear from the Department of Juvenile Justice (DJJ). This will go to court. I'm not sure of the details, don't really know what will happen. This is not her first offense. This is the first time DJJ will actually do anything, since the last time she was officially charged with a crime she was only 9 years old. Damn. Do you have any idea how hard this is to write? Do you have any idea how hard this is to live???

A lot has happened this week. Sproing is home, and I'll say more about that in another post. We have done a lot around the house to prepare for his homecoming. Diva has benefited from all the activity in ways that she has no right to benefit. But that's how things go sometimes.

That's the first of it. There's more. I'm going to make this a very long post and just spew it all out now.

Wednesday I had a message to call the assistant principal at Diva's school. She's been suspended for another two days, this time for an "obscene gesture" made to a teacher and another student. She also used a racial epithet in reference to another student. So as if I didn't have anything else to do, the child is home and needs to be closely supervised during the week when Superman and I have other things to do and other places to be. He took a few hours off work Thursday morning to stay with her while I went to class. I took her to my afternoon class. Oh, and Friday was a non-student day (teacher work day or something) in the district, so Friday doesn't count as one of her suspension days. We had to keep track of her Friday and figure out what to do with her on Monday, as well.

Superman took the day off work Friday in order to get ready for, then go retrieve, Sproing. I was gone to a conference all day. (That's a blog post in itself, which may or may not get written.) Diva hung around with her dad all day long. When I got home last night he was hanging tightly to his last nerve. It's uber-stressful spending time with that child.

Before we went to bed last night Superman told me to lock the door. We've been leaving it open because the master bathroom is the only functional bathroom in the house right now. He told me about an exchange he had with the daughter yesterday. She was playing with one of her stuffed animals and hanging around getting on Daddy's nerves. She accused him of being mean because he made her help him with something. She "listened" to what her stuffed animal was telling her, then told Superman "Fluffy told me to kill you in your sleep." WTF?? Has it come to this? He said "Then maybe Fluffy needs to go away." She hugged the toy, said he didn't, and I don't know what else. My mind was reeling too fast for me to hear what else he told me. I got up and locked the door.

First thing Monday morning we will call her counselor, our counselor, and another woman who's working to get her set up with services through the state. I may talk to the case manager at her school, too. Is there anyone else I should call? DJJ, maybe. We haven't heard from them yet, even though the whole arrest thing went down four days ago.

I haven't told anyone in my family about the whole thing. Light knows everything except the part about killing us in our sleep. She's gonna freak when she reads this. I don't know what else to tell her. I want to tell her to calm down, everything will be OK. We're taking care of things. Well, we are, sort of, as much as we know how. Superman told his parents and siblings. They're freaking out, and are afraid Diva really will harm us. He will go next weekend to see his family and is taking the devil-child with him. His sister, sister-in-law, and mother have agreed to take turns watching her. Hell, she might not even be living here by next weekend. She might be in the loony bin where she belongs.

I'm very tired. I slept about 7 hours last night, was awake for 3 or 4 hours, then took a 5 hour nap. It's not quite 10:00 and I'm exhausted. I have a major portion of my research paper to write before Monday. I'd planned to start that today, but I've either slept, avoided writing about Diva, or written about Diva instead. And now I'm sleepy again. Think I'll sleep now and write tomorrow.

Just when I thought it was safe to breathe a sigh of relief...

All is not well. All is not well with the boy. Not at all.

In our last episode of Fun With Java's Psychotic Family, we saw Java take her 11.5 year old son Sproing to a residential boys' home.

So last Friday, September 25th, I drove 200 miles to the SC low country to take the boy to this lovely rural boys' home with a great reputation for taking care of troubled young'uns. As I alluded to in my last post, the weekend was strangely quiet with him gone. I wondered all weekend how he was holding up. Today after lunch I called the director's office to inquire about his weekend.

The director told me that Sproing had a good weekend. But, he was just about to call Sproing's Daddy because today (technically yesterday. Let's just call it Monday, shall we?) when the boys went into their classroom to do schoolwork, Sproing refused to cooperate. Strongly refused to cooperate. Adamantly refused to cooperate. OK, he threw a major conniption fit. The director and the psychiatrist observed him, tried to work with him, all to no avail. So Mr. Director was about to call Sproing's Daddy to tell him to come pick up the boy.

What??

"Come get him."

Can you feel all the hope, happiness, and relief rush out of my body? Can you see me deflate? Do you feel the tears well up in my eyes? Do you feel my stomach begin to churn, my heart thump a sickly rapid pace?

I couldn't speak. I could barely breath. He continued to rattle on about something, I have no idea what. I finally told him to call Sproing's Daddy. I believe the rest of my statement was unintelligible gibberish. Then I hung up.

So, I have a test in my next class, which begins in an hour. I still have a final bit of reading to do, and I need to look over my note cards. Sure. I went to the library, which was annoyingly crowded. I needed a secluded spot to pretend to study. No such luck. I found an empty study carrel along a long wall of occupied carrels. The few comfy chairs were all taken. I did sit there and read the rest of the chapter, though I can't remember much of what it said.

I got up, headed to class, called Superman. I would have called him earlier, but I just couldn't. I couldn't talk, you know? Not without deep wracking sobs, and I just don't feel comfortable doing that on a crowded college campus in the middle of the plaza. I felt sick. Anyway, I did finally talk to him, got all shaky, teared up but didn't sob (much). Then I walked into the classroom. The prof was already in the room, I walked up to him all jittery and shit with my sunglasses still on to hide my weepy eyes. I briefly told him what had happened. He's a clinical psychologist by training, and I'd already discussed the issues about Sproing with him. Gad, I could barely stand. I was shaking. He said "Listen, forget about the quiz. You need to go take care of this. Go on, it's OK." God love his soul.

Superman and I met at home, and decided to both go to pick up the boy. It was a good decision. It was a hard trip.

And we have been home now for almost an hour, and it's two minutes 'til 1:00 a.m. I have class tomorrow, my dad and step-mom are coming into town to visit us tomorrow, I'm tired, I have cried a lot, sweat a lot, worried a lot, driven a lot. I want to take a shower and go to bed.

There is more. We picked up the boy, but he isn't at home with us now. Stay tuned to read how we managed that. Hopefully I'll get back here to continue the saga before the end of tomorrow. (Technically today. Let's just call it Tuesday, shall we?)

Home again

And back in the fray. And back to insanity. Seriously. I am not doing well at all.

I was away for a couple of days. 2.5, I think. Is today Wednesday? I came home last night, arriving at 11:30. It was a lovely couple of days. I felt all relaxed and better.

Today it's back. Backporch Priestess probably knew this would happen. She wanted me to stay longer. But I want to be at home. I want to be at home without them. They are little lampreys.

It is remotely possible that I might be a bad mother to compare my children to this creature, but today I'm too fucked up to care.

I can't remember what I was going to say. I have nervous twitches. Doing that shaky thing. And I can't talk clearly. I I I I am am repeating words words words as I try try to to to say what I want to to to say. For example. Thankfully I can write better than that.

I just called Cameron. Now she's all worried about me. She'll call Lady Grace and Backporch Priestess and they'll ... I don't know what they'll do. I appreciate their concern, really I do. It's comforting at a time when there isn't much comfort.

I also took my chill pill. I might feel the beginnings of a tiny bit of chill, but there's a hell of a lot of anxiety to overcome right now.

Anything else I can think to write sounds lame and whiny.

from an Undisclosed Location

I am being intervened.

I didn't mention it in last Friday's post, and honestly I don't remember if I had already planned this trip, but it has been my intention to visit Cameron and Lady Grace when the summer semester was over. On Sunday I met them at their church, a lovely little Episcopal church about half way between my home and theirs. (It's kind of a long drive for them to get to church.) After services we went to their house, and I planned to stay Sunday night and go home Monday evening. Well, that didn't exactly happen.

Yesterday (Monday) Cameron took me to the home of one of their friends, a gracious and lovely woman they call Backporch Priestess. Cameron had told me that Backporch Priestess and I were meant to be friends. Since we had plenty of freedom in our schedule (read: there was no schedule), she took me to meet Backporch Priestess. It was lovely.

Backporch Priestess is one of those "real" people. Unpretentious, open-hearted, with (I discovered) an uncanny perception. We talked, laughed, shared stories, had a lovely time. When Lady Grace got off work, she came over and joined the party. Backporch Priestess made dinner (delicious, of course), and I was peaceful and happy.

Of course, and because it is one of the reasons I have retreated to Cameron and Lady Grace's place, we discussed the current unpleasantness with Diva and Sproing. OH! and Lady Grace is in grad school studying to be a therapist, and she knows stuff. She (and I think Backporch Priestess, maybe) did an internet search and found a place that Diva might be able to go; a wilderness-ish therapeutic school/program thing for troubled children that takes kids as young as Diva and Sproing. (Many places like that take kids 13 and older. Diva and Sproing are 11.) Lady Grace also found some support networks and other resources that may prove useful. I just didn't know what to look for. Like I said, Lady Grace knows stuff!

After we finished dinner, Lady Grace said "I need to tell you something, Java. We are staging an intervention for you." Huh? Here's the thing: Backporch Priestess is very insightful. She has some experience with mentally/emotionally fragile people, and evidently recognized some danger signs in me. She said my hands were shaking while I was talking about the kids. I didn't realize that. Cameron told me that when she first saw me on Sunday her immediate thought was "oh, she looks really bad." And did I mention that last week, on a few occasions both Diva and Sproing, independently, looked at me funny and said "Mom, are you ok? Are you sick?" They noticed that I don't look right. (I haven't noticed, but then I rarely look at myself. I'm not sure how I manage, but I almost never look at myself in the mirror even when I'm standing in front of it, brushing my teeth or combing my hair.)

Cameron and Lady Grace had called Superman. They arranged with him (probably told him point blank) for me to stay here another day. I expected to drive home last night, but it was made clear to me that this was not an option. So I slept here again last night. I will be here all day. Lady Grace is at work, and Cameron and I will go to Lowe's (I'll tell you about that in a minute) and then back to Backporch Priestess' house this afternoon. I hope to go home this evening, really. I'm about out of clothes, and I miss my husband and my own bed. But it is very nice being here, and feels amazingly good knowing that these lovely ladies are so concerned for my mental health.

And let me tell you about That Which Must Be Done. Lady Grace came into possession of a glider rocking chair. She has wanted one for ages, and recently rescued one that was slated for the dump. It is broken, but fixable. Yesterday morning as I was drinking my coffee and relaxing, I studied the chair from across the room. It intrigued me. I approached the chair and, with swift gentleness, laid it on its side. I didn't want to startle or alarm it, but I did need to study its undercarriage. It seems docile enough, and didn't put up any fuss. The linkage at one of the joints in the glider mechanism is missing. Another one on the same side was very loose. It's just a bolt, screwed into a thingie with a free-turning jacket, allowing the glider to, well, glide. I was able to remove the loose bolt and its two washers. Cameron put them in a plastic baggie, and we will go to Lowe's later today to buy another bolt and washers, and a socket wrench with which to reassemble the chair. (I think these girls lose a few lesbian points for not having a set of socket wrenches, but I love them anyway.)

I have an appointment with my therapist on Friday. I was supposed to see her last Thursday but she was out sick, as I think I mentioned. I need to see her. Really. I think when Cameron gets back (she's gone out to run an errand or two) I'll borrow her phone (mine is dead; I didn't bring my charger) and call my therapist's office to see if I can get in to see her tomorrow. 'Cause it's kinda urgent, really. I seem to be doing much worse than I thought.

Right now I'm not thinking about much. I'm not worrying. I'm relaxing. There is nothing I can do right here right now, and the whole point of me being here is to relax. So I am. The only thing I really want to do is fix the glider rocking chair. That will make me happy.

I will now go scare up a cup of coffee. Stay tuned for more exciting adventures in the "Java Goes Crazy" series. The next installment will probably be posted from home. I hope.

It's getting worse - do you really want to read this? Feel free to move along to the next blog on your list. I don't mind.

As I begin this post, it is 3:11 p.m. My father-in-law has been in surgery for just over an hour. He is having half of one of his kidneys removed. Superman is there in Chattanooga with his family, and has been away from home since Saturday morning. I am at home with Sproing and Diva. Light left home Thursday evening to spend the weekend with Cameron and Lady Grace Dreamweaver, and won't be home until tonight or tomorrow.

I'm setting the stage here, just stating some facts, trying to get a clear picture of what's going on. My fingers are thinking out loud, so this may ramble a bit. (As opposed to most of my posts, when I ramble a lot.)Have patience, or don't read; whatever you wish. It doesn't matter to me.

This is the final week of classes for the summer semester. I have two final exams this week, and one more writing assignment due in economics. In statistics, my quiz grades have been dropping. I was making A's there for a while, but the last three or four quizzes have been B's and C's. The frustrating thing about that is that I think I understand it, but the quiz grades show otherwise. I got a B on the last test. I want an A. I always want an A.

I had a 1:00 appointment with my psychiatrist this afternoon, but wasn't able to make it because I was at home talking to the kind police officer who came by to "do" a report (or whatever those things are) on Sproing and Diva. Investigate a new claim? Process a new complaint? Whatever works, that's why he was here. Yes, I said "new." This has nothing to do with the vandalism of last week, or the $300 theft. I think the theft victim isn't going to file a complaint. We'd have heard something about it by now, I think. Besides, he was visiting from out of town and has gone back to Arkansas now. Have I gotten off track with this paragraph? Time for a new one.

The poor, sweet little old lady who lives next door (on the south side) filed a complaint against our children. I don't blame her a bit. They are vile little scamps. This neighbor is not the one who had $300 stolen from her home. That neighbor lives on the north side of us. The south neighbor didn't have any one specific complaint, but a series of little things that have added up over the months (nay, years). I don't remember what the officer called this complaint. Not vandalism, since it's mostly just mess, nothing broken enough to consider it vandalism. I don't know. I think this paragraph is bogging down, too. Next!

Oh, here's another item to add to the things-currently-causing-stress-for-Java list. I got a text from Twitch yesterday. One of the other three guys with whom he shares an apartment thinks that Twitch's twitches are maliciously intentional. A brief review: Twitch, age 18, first quarter in college, has Tourette's Syndrome with accompanying tics. Hence the name "Twitch." He does. And it's annoying. His apartment mate "J" thinks Twitch is doing this just to annoy, and doesn't believe that it's a medical/neurological condition. (Medical? Neurological? Other? I don't know.) Twitch told "J" that the tics bother him as much if not more than they bother everyone else, and he can't really stop them. I'm not sure what will come of all this, and I'm not going to get involved if I don't need to. This is one of those things Twitch needs to work out on his own. I talked to my dad about it yesterday, though, and he recommended that Twitch go to the school counseling office (or something like that) and see about how best to work it out. I intend to pass on that recommendation to Twitch. Otherwise, I'm staying out if it.

So, everyone else is out of town, and I'm here alone with Diva and Sproing. They are under house-arrest (per my command, not by order of the legal authorities) (yet) and obviously cannot be trusted to be left alone at home. (One may wonder if it's safe to leave them here with me, but that's a blog post for another time.) I have statistics class from 10 - noon, Monday through Thursday. So, last night I called my sweet boy S (see side bar, cast of characters) to see if he would come stay with them while I was in class. He was available, and willing to help out. Bless his heart! He and C are currently without transportation, so I put the kids in the truck and drove over to get him this morning. It was so good to see him! It's been a while. He follows the blog, so he knew what has been going on.

We got here and I showed him around a bit, showed him the room they used to occupy. It looks very different now. Light had her way with it. That's the room she and I share now, with my office taking up some of the space. Anyway, I told him what the kids could (not much) and couldn't (a lot) do, then left for class.

All this while I have my father-in-law (FIL) on the brain. I'm waiting for a text from Superman to tell me when he goes into surgery. During class I looked at my phone to see if there were any messages, and saw that I'd missed a call from home. Hmmm. S knows I'm in class, and wouldn't call unless it was something serious. Still, I didn't check with him until class was over. Alas, he called because the nice police officer wanted to talk to me. When he couldn't get me, he called Superman, who of course couldn't rush right over to take care of things, being, as he is, in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The officer left, promising to return between 12 and 12:30. Do you remember the part about me having an appointment with my psychiatrist at 1:00? I probably need to see my shrink right about now.

However, I have a legal responsibility at home, so I came home to wait for the police officer. When he still wasn't here by 12:20, I called the shrink's office to reschedule. Unfortunately, their phone line is closed from 12 to 1 every day, so I couldn't get through. I won't be able to get through until time for my appointment. If I don't call in advance to cancel my appointment, I get charged for the visit even if I don't show up. I can't call, because they don't answer their phones. I had no clue before 12:00 that I wouldn't make it to the appointment. I had arranged with S to be with the kids so I could see the doctor. AAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!!!!!

The police officer got here around 12:40. We talked. He listened to me (!) unlike the young buck who showed up last week. This guy is a little older, and the father of 4 children himself. The whipper-snapper who came last week is young, and (I asked today's officer) has no children of his own. Last week the young guy wouldn't listen to me, and essentially blamed me for my children's behavior. Stress.

Aside: To my dear, most beloved regular readers, I am about as honest and forthright as I can be on this forum. I have chronicled the misadventures of these children for the past 1.5 (or so) years I've been writing this here bloggie thing. I believe I have established that I do not condone their mischievous or criminal behavior. I actively discourage it. I punish them for it. From your perspective, is this a true and accurate statement?

Picking up where we left off...

Today's representative from the city police force was a kind and patient man. He let me explain our situation, about how we've been trying to get help for the kids for a couple of years, about how they have been under psychiatric care with counseling for at least two years, and that we are in the process of seeking further, different treatment for them since (obviously) what we've done so far hasn't had the desired effect. I told him that I had taken away everything except their bedding, including their clothes so that they wouldn't sneak out of the house. He seemed surprised that they would sneak out even when they were grounded. He was nice, he sympathized, he encouraged us to continue in our efforts to get help for them. We will be apprised of the court date, and yada yada yada. I thanked him very much.

I just got a call from Superman. At 4:45 FIL was out of surgery. The doctors took the whole kidney, which made the surgery easier. FIL is doing well so far, is in recovery, awake, etc. The oncologist filleted the kidney and found that the tumor was very very close but not invading the renal artery. It was a very aggressive tumor, had doubled in size since they first found it two months ago. Superman said it was the kind of tumor that has a casing around it (none of this means anything to me, but I'm relaying it anyway, just in case) and is not likely to have metastasized. Taking the whole kidney was the right move, though.

FIL had an ablation (?) to his other kidney two months ago. There were some smaller places in that one, and they zapped 'em with a probe. I have a lot less information about that, obviously. At any rate, there may be enough of a problem with his kidney function now that he might have to go on dialysis, and he is very much against that idea. We won't know for a little while. I don't know anything else.

Let's return to our previous discussion. After the police officer left, we drove S home and came right back here. The young criminals went back to their rooms. After taking a few minutes to reflect, I went to talk to each of them individually. I'll tell you about those discussions in the next post. This one is already way too long.

Preparing dinner for the in-laws: why I don't

Many years ago, before Diva and Sproing were born, we lived in a cute little house in the country. Light and Twitch were maybe 5 and 7, give or take a year or two. Superman's parents were on their way to visit us. I don't recall the occasion. It may have been a "just because" visit. "Just because" in this instance means "just because we live to torture you." (My interpretation)

The drive from there to here is approximately 5 hours. They said they'd be arriving at our house at 12:00. (Whatever time it was, I don't remember, but lunch was the meal in question.) We have traveled that trail ourselves, and predicting the exact time of arrival is iffy, in my experience. Not so with the Super-in-laws. (Here, "Super-in-law" refers to the fact that they are perfect. Not nice, kind, or thoughtful, just perfect. As in "can do nothing wrong.") They are precise and punctually perfect.

Being perfect, of course, they have a perfectly lovely home, clean and well apportioned. I, on the other hand, am a mess. My house is perpetually cluttered, and not particularly clean. In preparation for the in-law invasion, we had attempted to clean up a bit. It is impossible to be completely prepared, though. Impossible. I was stressed. (duh)

I was told that they would be expecting lunch when they arrived. I was reminded that Father-in-law (FIL) does not eat breakfast, and would need his lunch in a timely manner. He is used to eating at 11:00, so he would be an hour past hungry when they arrive. The mid-day meal is their large meal of the day. Now that they are retired, they eat a substantial lunch, then a very light supper. And you know how FIL loves my baked ham! (hint hint)

So I was fussing around in the kitchen, trying to get it all together. I was working on an impressive menu. We had the ham, some desserts (probably pies. That's typical.) at least two side dishes, freshly baked homemade bread of some sort (either biscuits or yeast rolls) and I don't know what else. And I had two children who I was ostensibly homeschooling. 

At some point during the morning I was in the kitchen, trying to clean up as I cooked. I had an empty glass jar with a label I was trying to remove. Soaking didn't help, so I took a razor scraper to it. The jar, as are most jars, was round. I held the jar with my left hand, being right handed. In the process of trying to clean this thing up, I made a bigger mess. Of my thumb. The razor slipped and I jabbed the blade into the knuckle of my left thumb. There was much blood, and a fair amount of pain. I washed and wrapped it tightly, and the blood flow slowed, but did not stop. 

I had a ham in the oven, nearly finished. There were a few side dishes and some bread that still needed to bake once the ham was done. The in-laws were an hour or so away. This was before we all had cell phones, so communication was impossible. My babies were too young to leave alone, though I think Superman was there. But he was working like a dawg trying to clean the place, if indeed he was there. I was cleaning in the kitchen as much as I could while cooking and caring for the kids. So I just wrapped my finger tightly and soldiered on. I had to change the dressing once or twice; the blood was flowing slowly. 

It was a week day, so Superman would have or should have been at work. He may have taken the day off. I know he was there when his folks arrived. On time. Exactly. (Spooky, really). When they pulled into the driveway, Superman was in the shower. He'd been working and was all sweaty and smelly, so he was bathing. I was very busy shuffling things into and out of the oven. 

Now, I married into this family. I was not born Perfect. Only these people and their children are Perfect. It only hurts my case that their daughter, who is almost exactly my age, is indeed Perfect. She has a Perfect house, cooks delicious Perfect meals, and always gets everything on the table at the same time at the Perfect time. I am not Perfect like her. When these people arrived there was still close to an hour before the meal would be ready. I did, though, thoughtfully prepare a few little appetizers to help tide them over until lunch. 

As I said, Superman was in the shower. Mother-in-law (MIL) greeted my children (not Perfect grandchildren, because their mother was woefully deficient as a parent) then came into the kitchen where I was up to my eyeballs in stress and cooking. She asked if dinner was ready. I said I'd run into some trouble, and it would be about an hour before everything was on the table. I showed her the appetizers. She refused the appetizers, saying they didn't want to spoil their appetite for the dinner. huh? 

That's not the gold, though. No, then she stood in my kitchen and blessed me out because lunch wasn't ready. She had told me when they would arrive. She told me "Dad" would be hungry. So why did I not have lunch ready? She was hungry! She needed to eat! "Dad" needed to eat! I directed her to the appetizers again. NO! She wanted LUNCH, not a little snack that would spoil her appetite. 

Superman usually intervenes before she can start this bullshit. He was wet, naked, and totally unavailable in the heat of the moment. I stood in the middle of my kitchen and stared at her, dumbfounded. I so wanted to say (in a very stern voice) "Get back in your car, turn right out of the driveway, go two miles into town, and there you will find a pizza parlor and a Mexican diner. You can eat there." I didn't though. I swallowed it, and just said "I'm sorry it isn't ready. I'm doing the best I can." 

Superman finally came out, dressed and in his right mind. The in-laws greeted their perfect son, the poor boy who had mistakenly married this pathetic excuse for a wife. MIL then had the gall to laugh lightly and tell him that she was a bit cranky because she was hungry. Ha ha ha, isn't that quaint?

I stayed in the kitchen and finished preparing the meal. I served the meal. We ate. Once I'd had a bit of food and saw that the kids had some lunch, I took myself to the doctor's office to get my thumb stitched up. Because the cut needed stitches. The doc soaked my finger in some kind of disinfectant stuff for about half an hour before he sewed it up. I was grateful to be able to spend that extra time away from home and the Perfect Mother-in-law.

I will bake a pie as my contribution to this mid-day meal. I will bake a lemon meringue pie, because that is the kind Twitch likes. FIL won't eat it, though. He once told me "The GOOD LORD deliver us from Tart Desserts." (I wish you could hear the inflection. It's wicked.) 

I'm too old for this shit. 

It has been a busy day. Tomorrow will be worse.

This morning I went to the "graduation" ceremony at the elementary school, where my dynamic demonic duo received their certificates of attendance for the fifth grade. Yep, a certificate of attendance. It means diddly squat. The only part of the ceremony I enjoyed was the speech by the principal of the middle school that my kids will attend next year. The rest was ... less. At one point in the midst of the program I started getting a bit panicky. There were too many people in that cafeteria. I was trapped. I would have gotten up and stepped into the hall, but that would have drawn more attention to myself, and that would be worse than just sitting there. So I just sat there. I survived. 

Light and Sproing took the little car (Eva) to the airport in the "big city to the north" to meet Grandmommy's plane. That went well. So now my Mama is in town. She and I went out to dinner tonight. We had a pleasant visit. She's here at the house now, visiting with the kids. Each of the grand kids is showing Grandmommy his or her special achievements. Light has displayed her pottery, Twitch showed her all the nifty stuff he did in his PhotoShop class. The youngsters showed off their certificates of attendance. Grandmommy is appropriately impressed. 

While big sister and little brother were off collecting the grandmother, I took Diva to her first gynecology appointment. Did I mention that she's 11 years old? Actually, today is her half birthday, so she is now 11.5 years old. She had her first pelvic exam (it's worse than a prostate exam, really) because she has had her first sexual intercourse. This is shit. They did a pregnancy test. It was negative. I figured it would be, but WTF. They are testing for chlamydia and gonorrhea. Results will be back in a few days.  I expect negative results from that, too. The point, really, is to demonstrate to the child the dangers inherent. I believe the doctor talked to her and showed her some really nasty, scary pictures of what can happen with STDs. That was what the nurse and I talked about when I called last week. We left the office with a prescription for birth control pills for my 11.5 year old daughter. 

On the way home, Diva was going on about how glad she was that the pregnancy test was negative. She was revelling in the drama, thoroughly enjoying herself. I know that game. I put the quietus on that one. I told her that this is not a game. I lectured her all the way home. This is NOT fun or funny. You must not do "that" again until you are ready to handle the possible consequences. Do you have a high school diploma? Do you have a job? Can you pay for an apartment? Do you have transportation? Can you buy food for yourself and a child? Can you pay for utilities? ("What's that?") Can you pay your medical bills? Or do you have insurance? Etc. I'm sure she tuned me out. If she doesn't like it, it doesn't apply to her. The child is not right in the head. 

I'm having a hard time. Taking her to the doctor was so hard.  It has been so difficult emotionally, this whole thing. I'm terribly depressed. I've been on the verge of tears most of this week. Watching their 5th grade celebration thingie this morning was heart breaking under the circumstances. 

We do what we must. I carry on. I take the next step, breathe the next breath. But my mind is coming unglued. My heart is in tatters. 

To complicate matters, my mother is in town. Worse yet, my in-laws arrive tomorrow. I will survive. I am a survivor. I'm just not sure how healthy I'll be on the other side. 

Coming up: the story that explains why I will not be preparing dinner for the in-laws.

Disconnect

It has been a difficult weekend. Diva and Sproing have been busy exhibiting the worst in pre-adolescent behavior. I am crazy again.

If you've been paying close attention for a while, you may notice that occasionally my sanity quits working. It usually lasts 3-7 days. I strongly suspect hormones. And most will agree that there is a decent amount of stress in my life. Well, I seem to be going through another episode of insanity. 

Not able to concentrate well

Crying a lot

Sleeping a lot and then not sleeping for long stretches

Not able to form coherent sentences

Stuttering 

Getting inordinately angry, especially at the children

That's been my weekend, interspersed with bursts of creativity and deep philosophical thought. The background drone through all this is heavy despair from the omnipresence of evil in the world, and its effect on the innocents. 

There is a long list of mundane disturbances to my peace, but most of them I've mentioned before. The only really new thing is that tonight the van broke down when Superman was on his way home from taking Light back to school. Thankfully he was almost to our county when the van died. It's on the side of the highway about 1 or 1.5 miles on the other side of the lake. So that's another thing we get to deal with tomorrow. Otherwise I don't want to talk about it. 

And now I'm going back to bed. Maybe tomorrow I will be more sane. 

A brief history of my last 20 years – book eight

How we got here

Why we got here

What we're doing here

Book eight

Let's review, shall we? We've covered my history up to March of 2006. We live in this ugly little 3 bed/2 bath brick ranch in Greenwood, SC. The family consists of my husband and me, our two biological children, 2 adopted children, and one C, the sweet gay boy we took in when his mother kicked him out. Occasionally C's boyfriend S stays here, too.

Just for kicks and giggles, let's look at some of the things contributing to my stress level.

I hate living in this 3/2 brick ranch ugly thing in a neighborhood

There are 2 adults and 5 or 6 children aged 8-17 living in this 1600sq. ft. house

I drive a school bus, a regular route with large number of troublesome students

C lives with us now and needs a lot of attention

Everyone else still needs attention and is jealous of the time I spend with C

We are being sued by our ex-landlord

Sproing is having a LOT of trouble behaving himself in 2^nd grade

I am co-leading three different Girl Scout troops, 2 of which are outreach projects

I am working through a radical change in my fundamental belief system

That's as much as I can think of at the moment. As I look at it all written down it looks a bit overwhelming.

But wait! That's not all! If you act now you can receive additional Stress ™ for the price of your sanity! Operators are standing by.

Yes, things are about to get worse. I'm actually having trouble writing this down, reliving it in my mind. I don't want to write out the next bit. Deep breath. OK, into the breach…

One Monday evening in either late March or early April, S was at out house with C, and his mom had told him to be home by 8:00. Superman had taken Sproing to a cub scout meeting, which ended at 7:30. I was waiting for them to get home so I could take S home. I didn't want to leave Diva here by herself, or something. I forget the why of it all. Anyway, my scouts were late, and it was getting very close to 8:00. C and S and I got in the van and headed for S's home.

We drove out of our neighborhood and down the larger avenue toward downtown. As we approached the first major intersection we could see blue flashy lights and lots of unusual activity in the road ahead. I was about to turn down a side street to avoid the mess, but something in the back of my head told me to approach the intersection. As we got closer I saw a vehicle overturned in the road. Closer, and I realized it was a pick-up truck. A red pick-up truck. A small red pick-up truck. Sort of like the one Superman was driving. I pulled the van into the parking lot of a bank on the corner to get a closer look. My heart was still beating, my breathing still almost normal, because it could be a different truck. But when I pulled along side the wreck I saw on the tailgate of the truck the bumper sticker that identified our truck. At that point my heart stopped beating and I quit breathing.

I remember it all so clearly. I turned off the van and set the emergency brake. I opened the door and got out of the van. By then C and S had jumped out and were standing beside me. We walked toward the wreck and the law enforcement officer (deputy sheriff? police? state trooper? I don't remember that detail.) who was standing beside the mess. The boys were on either side of me, holding my arms, holding me up. I told the officer that was my husband's truck, he and my son were in it. He quickly told me they were alright. They had been put in an ambulance which was (for some strange reason unfathomable to me) parked behind the fast food place on the opposite corner of the intersection. I looked around the truck. I looked AT the truck. It looked bad. I picked up a couple of things that had been in the truck bed and were now scattered on the road. The boys stayed very close beside me. The officer asked me, urged me a few times to go to the ambulance to see my husband and son. So we got back in the van and drove to the restaurant parking lot on the other side of the street.

I vividly remember my thoughts during the previous scene. As I was trying to process the wreck, I was worried about how my actions would affect C and S. I was in mother mode. It was important to show them how to properly handle oneself in this situation. I had to be strong and level-headed to demonstrate responsible adult behavior in a crisis. Fucked up, I know. But whatever.

We got to the ambulance, I walked up to the back and the paramedics told me to get in and see my guys. I glanced very quickly at Superman, lying on a gurney on the left. I was checking for gushing bleeders, protruding bones, that sort of thing. The moment my head appeared in his field of vision, poor little Sproing reached out his arms and cried "Mommy!" He was lying on …something… on the right side of the vehicle. He was strapped to a backboard, his head immobilized in the soft helmet thing. I rushed right to him and held him as best I could. In their presence I was cool as a cucumber. I could tell right away that Superman was initially fine. I was aware that Sproing wasn't seriously injured as well. I held the boy for a moment. He cried. I soothed. I noticed that his shoe was perched atop his toes, not entirely on his foot. I lifted his shoe and asked him to wiggle his toes for me. He did. I might have had him move his arms again, I forget. I told him that he would be fine. I said the ambulance would take them to the hospital and I would be right behind them. I gave Superman a kiss and got out of the ambulance.

I was a bit calmer after seeing them. I was concerned about Superman because he has some problems with his back. He has a ruptured disk in his spine. He's a tall drink of water and back trouble runs in his family. But he was lucid and witty and I knew he'd live. I was OK to drive to the hospital, which I did.

We got there and we went in to see them. C and S walked beside me, holding me up every step of the way. Sproing had already been checked over by the time we got to there. He was fine. Not a scratch on the body. (He's had some emotional after-affects, though.) Somehow I arranged for a ride home for him. I don't even remember. Someone came and took him home.

The doctors wanted to run some more tests on Superman, so he stayed there another couple of hours. C and S and I stayed with him the whole time. I think C and S were afraid to leave me alone. S had called his mom to tell her everything, and she'd agreed to let him stay with us as long as necessary. He lived about 5 blocks from the hospital anyway, so he was within walking distance of home.

The immediate crisis was over and we all started to feel a bit more relaxed. So C and S began to do what comes natural to young lovers. Right there in the ER they started hugging and kissing. We were not in a closed off exam/treatment room. We were in a quite public area with nothing but a curtain available for privacy. But the curtain was open, I guess to let the nurses keep an eye on the patient. Anyway, the PDA was not well received. Things were kind of tense, and I was too emotionally and mentally distracted to handle the boys. Nothing really bad happened, but in my memory of the whole thing I'm pissed off at them for doing that. Water under the bridge.

Superman was discharged, we got S to his house and went home. Early the next morning I called my boss and told him I was unable to come in that day, explaining the situation. Sproing went to school that morning at his request, but we told him if he started feeling bad to go to the office and call us. When I took him to school I went in to tell the principal and office staff (including the school nurse) and his teacher all about the wreck. There was a picture on the front page of the local paper showing the truck upturned, wheels akimbo. The caption identified the truck's owner and driver at the time of the crash, none other than our Superman. Most of the school had seen the paper by the time I got there with Sproing so they already knew the news. We just filled in information.

I expected Superman to be very sore, but he was annoyingly chipper and spry. I was a total basket case. My nerves were shot to hell and back. We had to run a bunch of post-wreck errands; a trip to the insurance office, a check up with our family physician. Sproing called mid-morning and I picked him up from school. The whole day I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

The following day I went to work. I felt a bit better. Superman was sore all over. This gave me great comfort. He was supposed to be sore. I was afraid something was wrong when he felt great the day after the wreck. He was off work for a few more days. I don't recall if he went in to work at all that week.

We were down to one car and 4 drivers (me, Superman, Light, and C) and people going in all directions. It was a pain. Shortly after that I bought my wonderful truck, Manny. That helped a lot, except that no one else knows how to drive Manny. Superman can do it; he knows how to drive a stick shift. But Manny doesn't work well for him. There are certain nuances of that truck that Superman just doesn't get. We also got a small old Nissan Maxima that I hated but everyone else liked. C wrecked it twice. Nothing serious, but a couple of fender-benders. Annoying, mostly. Transportation is always an issue around here.

So life resumed. Stressful and busy, things to do, people to take care of. Superman and Sproing recovered quickly. I went back to my daily routine, and life got back to our version of normal. But was I really alright?

What’s going on here, Java?

We are rapidly approaching the end of our spring break here in this school district. School resumes on Monday. Since I work in Pupil Transportation I will go back to work on Monday.

Except I won't, because I'm having a spot of vertigo. Well, it's more like a large smear of vertigo. For a spot of vertigo I wouldn't change my plans. When the vertigo colors outside the lines and gets rude, I need to curtail my activities. I'm having a lot of dizzy spells that almost send me to the floor. It is of course worse when I change the position of my head rapidly, bend over, stand up, or turn around. All of the aforementioned movements are major components of my job. If I get dizzy while driving a multi-ton bus through the busy streets of this city, it could be bad. So I won't be driving the school bus at all next week on orders from my doctor.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. And let me tell you why. I have wanted to talk to you about this all week, but haven't had the peace and quiet to write.

I have decided to quit my job.

This year was going to be my last year driving the bus; I decided that a while ago. But my intention was to work out the rest of the year. For the past few weeks, though, I've been getting more and more stressed, less and less able to fully function. I am constantly bombarded with demands for my time and energy. Yeah, I know, welcome to the real world, baby. But I am not entirely well.

I have some options and opportunities not afforded to some. My dear husband has a very good job and makes a decent salary. We are used to my income, too, but we can, I think, live without it. It isn't very much, anyway! Our money management skills need some work, that is a weakness Superman and I share. With some discipline and organization I'm sure we can manage without my measly paycheck. Of course if I'm not working every afternoon we don't need to put the young'uns in childcare. That's a big savings right off the top.

My life has undergone some big changes over the last 2 years. My sanity's only so-so. (Extra bonus points if you can name that reference!) I feel as though there are more big changes in the near future. More about that in a moment. My mind, my soul need the quiet opportunity to process these changes and to prepare for the future. This cannot be accomplished with the current level of demand on my time and energy. This week with everyone out of school I realized that I can't concentrate with the young'uns running in and out, asking questions and making demands all the time. So I decided to tender my resignation, giving two weeks notice on Monday. Now that I can't work all next week, this shakes it up a bit. I think I will still resign on Monday anyway, and maybe not be able to work out my notice.

Am I trying to explain or to convince myself?

The bus driving job has always been a temporary station in my overall career path. I never expected it to last this long, honestly. I have learned a great deal about a lot of things over the past almost 4 years, most notably about myself. I don't regret one moment of it.

But be honest with me, people, do I seem smart enough to do something more with my life than drive a school bus? I realize I have made a positive impact on a lot of people during my time on the bus. I'm glad for that. Can I make a bigger difference in another venue? One that utilizes my skills, abilities, and intelligence better than driving a bus? Probably. Lord I hope so!

Some of my depression might come from my over-qualification for this job. I try so hard to look for positives. I make excuses for my lack of mental stimulation. This happens subconsciously. I find myself lowering my expectations so that I'm not so frustratingly disappointed. And we wonder why I'm depressed! There are many good reasons to get out of this job. The approaching hot season is another one. Not as intellectual, more physical, but honestly folks, I have a really hard time handling the heat. These buses are not air conditioned, and it gets very hot in there when the temps rise above 80F. (I'm a weather wuss.)

Here's more about these big changes ahead. Right now I don't know exactly where I'm going. I have a burning desire to work directly with the homosexual community to enact change, to render aid, to provide support and education. That's a pretty vague mission statement, you know? I don't know how this will work out, but I am heading in that direction. For this I need to prepare. I need to set my mind toward the task. I need (want) more formal education. I need to find out what more I need!

This is going to require a lot of emotional growth from me. That's hard. I've been stuck in the backwaters of adulthood for 20 years. My recent blogging experience has been the first significant intellectually stimulating interaction with live adult people that I've had in a very long time. (Present spouse excepted) There are some issues for me to work on. I need to get comfortable being around groups of people again. Gotta fight the agoraphobia. I should learn how to behave myself in polite company. Those skills will serve me well. I have a lot of unrealized potential. So much so that I don't realize how much potential I have.

Am I justified in quitting my job right now? Am I being irresponsible in my obligations? Or am I being wise in managing my mental/emotional resources? Discuss.